


Selfless to a Fault

by mysticmelody



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst and Feels, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Reader-Insert, Unrequited Love, bisexual reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-14 21:48:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29798349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mysticmelody/pseuds/mysticmelody
Summary: A late night of worrying leads you into the ever-present arms of Dean Winchester.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/You
Comments: 4
Kudos: 11





	Selfless to a Fault

**Author's Note:**

> There are several things I have to say about this work. 
> 
> Firstly, this is my first time ever writing Dean Winchester, and I really liked it! Please tell me how you think I did, because I'm not sure if this may be out-of-character in any way possible!
> 
> Secondly, this is completely self-indulgent. I was struggling with a situation pretty much identical to the one the reader faces here, and I needed to feel like there might be someone who understand and would care, so this angsty fic was born! 
> 
> With that being said, please be considerate as this fic holds a special place in my heart, and also please leave any feedback you have for me. I would love to write more Dean/Reader if that's what you want! Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

Rustling among the tan sheets of the tan comforter atop of the tan bed, you internally sighed. Hours of kicking the blankets away because they caused you to feel encompassed by heat, bringing them back over yourself absently as the lack of warmth brought shivers, and feeling an utter sense of uncomfortableness within caused you to roll onto your back with fatigue.

You stared at the ceiling, taking your time to observe every little crack and crevice above thanks to an alarm clock's blue light that illuminated the room in an electric haze. There was nothing interesting to observe, of course, but the last hope you had for sleep that night resided in the possibility of boring yourself into rest, and the imperfect--and probably unsafe--barrier atop you seemed to be the best bet.

However, this strategy proved to be no luck, as the awful lighting only resulted in a dull throb behind your eyes and temples that grew after mere moments of staring. Becoming impatient, you reluctantly shifted into a sitting position, looking at the two other beds that you were in the midst of.

After watching his tall form take many long, steady breaths, you concluded that the left was clear. It was nowhere near surprising since Sam was always the first one to crash. Internally, you both admired and envied his ability to fall asleep with so much ease. If only your relentless mind was more forgiving.

To your right was Dean, who, to your relieve, shared the same antics as his brother.

Dean was never one that took too long to fall into slumber, but between his tendency to wake at any slight sound and his occasional nightmares, it was much more likely to find him in states that were much like the one you were in now. It was something that his younger brother knew nothing of, and even you wouldn't have known had it not been for one particularly bad night that included some sleep-talking on his part. Since that time, you'd made it your habit to comfort him in those moments, despite his initial protests.

Feeling another sensation that spread throughout your body, difficult to describe as anything other than a complete sense of unease, you slid out of your bed as quietly as possible. This restlessness could have been from the immense dissatisfaction that you felt at being in such a run-down, uncleanly motel room, but the familiar wrenching of your gut relayed that this was an emotional matter, and you needed out as soon as possible.

Your feet lightly shuffled on the carpet below, and you gave a quick glance to both of the boys again before looking at the exit. Your breath held as you saw Dean's figure shift positions underneath the blankets, and you scanned your brain for a simple excuse that would explain yourself.

After watching him for a few minutes, you concluded that his lack of movements and calm demeanor meant that he hadn't woken up. You sighed with relief and put your hand on the cold, metal doorknob, opening the door and stepping out into the cool night air.

Finally feeling somewhat more free, you leaned against the brick exterior of the motel and took a deep breath. The fresh scenery calmed you a little, and you felt yourself becoming less tense as you paid more attention to your surroundings.

By far, it was nothing beautiful. You were in Nevada, in some middle-of-nowhere town in some middle-of-nowhere hotel that was for some reason obsessed with decorating in neutrals. The place you were staying at was the only establishment you could see for miles around, except for the road that led to it, and even the nature in the area was very dull and mundane. The same yellow-green, dry grass coating the sandy-looking dirt. There were hardly even any trees.

The greenery didn't really matter though, what you preferred seeing most was the stars. The stars were always there, always constant. Sure, they changed positions and brightness, but something about them was so reassuring. As long as there were stars in the sky, you could calm yourself down. Well, most of the time.

Even as you stared at the abyss above, finding and recalling the few constellations that you knew by old memory, the sinking feeling in your gut just seemed to increase. Your chest tightened and you pressed your lips together, the awareness of your steady spiral into mental torment causing you to slowly panic.

 _No,_ you told yourself, shoving away the thoughts of what had happened previously. _This isn't the time to show such weakness._

Before berating yourself completely, the sound of a door handle startled you out of your thoughts. You spun around on your heels to see the older Winchester emerge from the room you just left, mimicking the way you closed the door with as much silence as possible before making his way over to you.

Settling against the wall next to you, Dean's emerald gaze met yours. He said nothing, but you noticed the darkness that resided under his eyes and knew that he had not been resting well either. His hair was tousled and messy, the short strands sticking up in many different directions, and he was still in a black t-shirt and grey sweatpants--his typical sleepwear.

You suddenly felt a rush of guilt as you realized that you had awoken him, but he must have been able to read the emotion as it hit your face since he took the initiative to speak before you.

"Can't sleep?" he asked. His voice was lower and more gravelly than normal, no doubt from his interrupted snooze.

Still being overwhelmed with your feelings and, now, the sudden appearance of Dean, you couldn't really muster the energy to use your voice. You shook your head instead, your gaze fixating on the concrete your bare feet were on.

Your small answer seemed to be good enough in his book, as a long period of silence followed. Your eyes stayed uncomfortably on the pavement as you tried to uphold a stony exterior, and, unbeknownst to you, his bore straight through your façade. He couldn't figure out exactly what it was, but he knew something was definitely off.

"You know we have the vampire case in Utah tomorrow morning." He broke the quietude with a tone that was more gentle than usual, but the underlying hints of apprehension and demand were not unnoticed by you.

"I'll be fine, Dean," you said, your voice soft from fatigue. "You're going to be the one driving me and Sammy around, so if anyone needs more rest then it's you."

He only sighed in response, again falling mute.

The lack of expression from the hunter both relieved and unsettled you. You had hoped that no one would discover your escapade into the dark night because it was stupid. The events that had caused you so much anxiety were ones that should be meaningless to any hunter, including you. You had been in this business for quite a while, long enough to know that relationships were something forbidden and dangerous for people like you, and yet here you were. Still foolishly begging that things would work out when you already knew that they wouldn't--that they _couldn't_.

Dean's absence of questions was an ideal short-term happening, but also a dreadful long-term promise. His tolerance ran thin, you encountered that several times on your own, and, while he might stay quiet tonight, he would eventually rip the thoughts that plagued you straight from your mind. You understood why he did it--after all, he was quite similar to you in regard to feelings--but it still hurt to realize that you would be burdening him with your nonsense.

Your nonsense... Those words set off alarms within you, and suddenly you were so much more exhausted. You clasped your eyes shut and your body sagged against the wall, but you hadn't even noticed that you were on the concrete until you saw your knees at eye level before you. There was a dull fire that roared across your back, and you guessed that it had been the jagged bricks that steadied your fall.

Within seconds he was kneeling in front of you, jade irises examining your body for any signs of injury.

"Hey, hey," he said, resting his hands on your shoulders, "what's wrong?"

You compressed your lips and kept your gaze away from his. If you looked into his eyes, you would succumb to his comfort.

"Look," he huffed, losing what little bit of composure he had retained. "You haven't been eating. You stay awake most nights and on the ones that you do sleep, its only for a few hours max. Every morning you look like you don't even want to wake up anymore, and I get it, I really do, but something tells me this is something more than the usual aches and pains of a hunter."

You bit your lip at his harsh tone, staring at your feet again. You wanted to tell him that no matter what you felt, it would always only be a fraction of the hurt that he endured. You wanted to smile and laugh and tell him that it was all a joke, but you didn't have the energy for pretending anymore.

There was a low grunt, and then you felt one of your shoulders go cold as he moved his hand away.

The tears stung at your eyes, threatening to flow down your cheeks like a river. You begged for them to stay, for them not to fully blow your cover, but alas, nothing ever goes as you want.

As the first drops escaped, a warm hand caressed your face, calloused skin gingerly tilting your chin upward. The gesture was so delicate and smooth that you opened your eyes to make sure that Dean had been the one behind it.

Your gaze met eyes that reminded you of a field of grass in the summertime, and you lightly nuzzled into his palm.

"(Y/N)," he started, voice a whisper. "You can tell me. I'm here for you."

You told yourself not to give in, that you couldn't be yet another burden on this man, but you caved. His hand on your cheek, rough fingertips gently combing over your skin; his body hovering so closely to yours that his essence of warmth shielded you from the night winds--these actions brought you so much ease and security that no matter how your mind objected, your walls crashed completely.

"She doesn't love me anymore, Dean."

There was a small moment of peace, where your eyes were dry and you felt the weights of unspoken thoughts lifting from your shoulders, but it didn't last long. You were still locked in his magnetic stare when your vision blurred, hot tears erupting down your cheeks. 

You instantly clutched onto him, hands tangling in the soft fabric of his shirt. Strong arms surrounded you, one resting on your back as the other guided you into his chest. Your teardrops puddled and stained his t-shirt, but he didn't seem to pay any mind to it. 

You buried your head into him, the reassuringly familiar scent of whiskey and leather not even enough to calm yourself. Your mind spun with thoughts of her, of the promises you had kept dear to your heart that were now in ruins, and an agonized wail left your lips without your consent.

Dean's hand rubbed small shapes into your back. You could feel his chin shifting from it's place atop your head as he spoke softly. "Just sit tight. You don't have to say anything else unless you're ready, but I'll listen when you are."

Your head was supposed to nod, but the action was long lost in the whirlwind of emotions that brewed within. Your chest ached as if the raw sentiments that you had bottled up now yearned to physically escape, and your body began to violently tremble against the man before you. You winced and forced your eyes shut, silently begging for the pain and worrying to stop eating away at you.

Your grip on the hunter tightened as your mind raced, and he must have noticed that things were getting worse for you as he then took you by the shoulders and pushed you back some. You felt his hands rest on the sides of your face and heard his deep voice as he mumbled to you, but it all seemed so far away.

"(Y/N), look at me. Open your eyes," he said, fingers brushing against your earlobes. "I know how difficult it is to do anything other than think right now, but you're gonna have to try and listen to me, okay?"

His voice was distant in comparison to the voice that whispered your thoughts aloud in your mind, but you could still hear him well enough for comprehension. You followed his instructions and met his soft gaze, focusing on the flecks of gold and brown that were in his eyes rather than on whatever chaos ensued inside. 

He held your stare, although it was obvious that he was trying to read you. His brows were lightly furrowed in a gentle concentration and his jaws were a little tighter than normal. He was stressed--worried, even--and as he pursed his lips and took a deep breath, it seemed as though he had found an answer that was satisfactory enough. 

"You can focus on whatever aspect of my face that you want, but that isn't going to get rid of everything that you've kept buried inside," the hunter warned, however his tone was anything but harsh. "I told you I'm here for you and I mean that, and I mean it when I say that I want you to tell me everything that's going through your head."

Your chest felt constricted once more, and your eyes widened in panic. You were opening your mouth to object, but he cut you off before you could mutter a word.

"No. I know you, (Y/N), and you need this. It's going to eat at you until you get it out of your system, and it only gets worse the longer you hold back." As he spoke, he had become more chastising, and he must have noticed for he now sighed and moved a hand to rustle strands of your hair as the other rested on your knee. "Trust me. I know how it feels."

Somewhere deep down inside you still wanted to argue with him, to protect him from the dirty secrets that your mind whispered to you and to protect you from embarrassment, but the other part that wanted relief won, and you took a shaky breath and tried to speak. 

"It was last week," your hoarse voice croaked, still under the strain of fresh tears. "You and Sam were still asleep and she called me. She said it was something important and that I had to hear it urgently, so I agreed to talk to her..." You trailed off, the recollection of the event and the feelings it invoked causing you to feel sparks of pain in your chest. 

Dean gingerly nodded, clearly encouraging you to continue, and yet your mouth was sealed. Your lips trembled and your breathing had become erratic again, and you felt a single tear escape both of your eyes, left after right. 

"Whatever you're thinking about, say it. Let it out." 

His words encouraged you, and you blinked the tears from your eyes before resuming.

"When I picked up she was saying sorry over and over again. I thought maybe she was hurt, or that something had happened to someone in her family, but..." You ceased for a moment and then moved your eyesight down towards the old pavement again. "She just said that there was someone else."

You chewed on your bottom lip as a few more stray tears cascaded down your face. You quickly wiped them away, the physical exhaustion and numbness that follow emotional turmoil now taking control of you.

"She said that I was never anything serious, that I was better off as her close friend, but how could it not have been serious?" Your eyebrows wrinkled and your voice shrank as you continued. "I put in everything for her and this... this is what happens?"

You looked back up at Dean, your eyes watering. "She said she loved me. She said that she wanted to marry me one day, Dean. How was that fake?" Your voice broke, and you desperately searched his face for answers--answers that he couldn't possibly have, yet you sought for them anyway. You needed to believe that someone had the answers.

He looked pained as he watched you recount your heartache. His emerald eyes were slightly narrowed in that way that they did when he felt guilty--the same expression that he wore whenever he failed to save someone he had loved--and yet you just kept speaking, too tired to filter what should be said and what shouldn't.

"How was everything fake? How did none of it mean anything to her? I meant everything that I said to her; I sacrificed my time and my energy and my entire life for her because she said she would do the same. She didn't even know I was a hunter..." Tears now rapidly fell once more, and you didn't bother with hiding it. "Why can't I be good enough for someone, Dean?" 

Before you could cave in on yourself, he took you into his arms again. This time, he held you as closely as he could, arms around your shoulders and back whilst you sobbed onto his beating heart. He pressed his lips to your forehead slowly and then rested his nose into the top of your head, causing you to feel completely encompassed and secure. 

You kept crying as the ache in your chest and the emptiness in your stomach refused to abandon you. Every breath you took was strained and stuffy, and before long you found yourself mildly hyperventilating into his arms--not just due to the terrible way you were breathing or the hidden fear that you weren't getting enough air, but also because you had finally said it aloud, and it hurt like hell.

You finally admitted that you weren't good enough for anyone, and that the vacancy and jealousy that you felt towards any other human--and especially hunter--who could hold someone close to them without such fright was beginning to drown you. 

"I try so hard for everyone, Dean," you murmured into his chest, "and I'm so tired of trying. I'm so tired of always being the person who cares way more than anyone else."

He didn't speak, and only replied by rubbing his hands on your back reassuringly, but that was enough for you to finish what you needed to say. Words that had been on your mind time after time, yet you always refused them. Words that seemed selfish, but you no longer cared about the on-taking of such labels.

"I'm never going to find someone who will be willing to do what I am for them. No one will ever take care of me the way that I'll take care of them, and I used to fight that idea, but... it's time I accept it. I accept knowing that no one will ever care as much as I do."

And with that, you fell silent, a thorough exhaustion leading your tears to cease and your mind to blur. 

Dean upheld his quiet, and you wondered what he was thinking, but the truth was that you would never know. His mind, much like yours, was rattling with thoughts, but unlike you he could not speak of his. His lips were sealed shut, both metaphorically and physically as he pursed them until they turned white, because no matter how much he wished to say that you were wrong--that he loved you so much that he often thought it could be killing him; that he would take care of you for the rest of time if he were just given a chance; that his heart was just as big and selfless and cursed as yours was--he wouldn't say it. He wouldn't say that he was in love with you because he couldn't break you further. He would never be selfish enough to bring that upon you, so instead, he kept the hurt that he felt hidden away where no one could find it, and muttered to you carefully as he held you together.

"I'm sorry."

He really meant it too, more than you will ever know.


End file.
